


Slow Dance With Large Ham

by Missy



Category: My Name Is Bruce
Genre: Community: schmoop_bingo, Dancing, F/M, Humor, Romance, Schmoop, Wedding Reception, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kelly expects things from Bruce that no other wife of his has ever asked for.  He just thinks he'll just coast along, if only for this one dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Dance With Large Ham

**Author's Note:**

> As with any fic featuring characters from My Name Is Bruce, the "Bruce Campbell" in this fic is based on the movie characterization. Not real, never happened, etc.

He was standing on her foot again. She yanked her poor abused limb backward, trying to salvage it from the pinch of pain running through it.

He was oblivious, joyfully dancing in time with the beat pouring down from the two huge speakers looming over their heads. One step might have been a booglaoo, the other might have been a bit of a chicken strut. His right hand was on her hip and the other was mashed against hers, holding her fingers.

At one point, his knee comes forward and catches her groin area, causing her to hiss in pain.

"Don't they teach country girls how to dance nice and proper?" he asked in a mock southern accent. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes; the same place they taught you how to move, Hollywood boy," she glowered.

He tucked his head close to hers and, quite unexpectedly, pulled her close to his body, planting his left hand upon her waist and his right against her back. "Taught me how to slow dance," he pointed out, holding her a little closer.

She smiled. Well now, he did know how to do that. She tucked her head against his shoulder and closed his eyes. "Bruce, I…well I…"

"Don't make me tell you I l-love you again."

"I won't, Fonzie," she smiled, burrowing into the soft part of his shoulder. She smiled to herself. Their families had gathered; her favorite flowers are on the bar, and the mood lighting's perfect. For once, it's all right, and she's content with being swept away.

"Why did you want to have it in this fine dump?" he wondered against her ear.

She explains it to him as if he were a small child. "Because we met here. Besides, the ribs are terrific."

Bruce chuckled softly, sweeping her around the floor. "I've had better in Bulgaria. Say what you want about the fake beard making skills, they know their Mongolian barbeque."

"Don't say that in front of Chester," she instructed. "He has a temper about his cooking skills." She ran her fingers gently up his back. "You look nice in a tux."

"I always look nice. But thanks," he tucked his head closer. "You look prettier than a sunflower in July."

She all but rolled her eyes at him. "Do you think sweet words'll get you under my skirts faster?"

"They usually do," he said, with calm practicality. She punched him with her bouquet of black eyed susans. "Hey, easy on the flowers, or I won't introduce you to Big Bruce tonight."

"I've already met Big Bruce," she pointed out. "And that's your hand, star-boy."

He didn't say anything to her – just held up the right. She could clearly still feel the left on her hip. "So, are you happy to be the fourth Mrs. Bruce Campbell?"

She stared blankly at his right hand for a moment or two. Then she smiled and said, "I sure am. But Bruce, will you promise me something?"

"Yeah?" he asked, as the redneck-esque waltz came to an end.

"Say I'll be the last Mrs. Bruce Campbell."

 

He just laughed. "You'd better be the last! I can't afford another divorce."

She frowned at his joke, and he gave her his best I'm-just-kidding-honey grin. With that he led her off the dance floor to her waiting son and a chocolate cake shaped like a chainsaw.


End file.
